Tales from the Park Bench
by Lala Kate
Summary: Drabbles set in "Play Dates and Park Benches" verse I post on tumblr, usually in response to requests and prompts. May contain slight spoilers.
1. Seven

_So I received this wonderful prompt on tumblr:_

_I fear I may be taking advantage by making such a request and perhaps you had a reason for leaving it unwritten but would you give us a glimpse of Matthew asking Mary on their first date in Play Dates? If not it is totally understandable, I've just been re-reading and got intrigued as to what their body language and moods were like in that moment._

_Here is my response. Thank you for this, resembling-gumption. I had a wonderful time writing this moment between them. :) I hope to post the next actual chapter sometime in the upcoming two weeks, after I complete and post the next chapter of "The Hungover Games". _

* * *

"Well, then."

Matthew sneaked another glance in her direction, itching to hold her hand, wondering how she would react if he tried. They strolled behind an exhausted trio, both smiling as Isobel kept encouraging the girls towards their cars.

"Well, then," Mary echoed, walking closer to him than was necessary. "I think the Fall Festival was a bonafide success."

"Especially the Ring Toss Booth," he grinned, nudging her gently, rewarded by a laugh.

"How could it not be with the two of us in charge," she returned, gazing at him from under thick lashes. "The only downside of the evening was that I didn't get to tie you up."

A coughing spasm made him stop in his tracks.

"Are you alright?" she inquired, tapping him on the back, the scent of her perfume tickling his nose.

"I will be," he managed through sporadic coughs mixed with laughter. "As soon as I can breathe again."

His mother had paused, their daughters gazing back at them with no trace of amusement.

"I'm fine, mother," he attested, watching Isobel roll her eyes before setting off again, Belle and Anna nearly skipping to keep up.

"Sorry," Mary quipped. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

His chuckle made her insides flutter.

"If that's what getting in trouble with you feels like, you have my full permission to toss me into the dog house any time you wish."

Her gaze dropped to the pavement as her teeth nipped her bottom lip.

"Is that an invitation, Crawley?"

His feet halted under him, an unsteady hand reaching out for her arm, turning her in his direction. God, was he really about to do this? Had he lost what was left of his mind?

"It could be," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it suits you, that is."

Her eyes flickered in confusion, and she tilted her head as she stepped in closer.

"Wait," she breathed, trembling in spite of herself. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

His face was so hot he would swear it could glow in the dark.

"If you have to ask, I suppose I'm not doing it very well."

Her breath was unsteady, her mouth suddenly dry as she stared at this man winding his way around a heart she had feared untouchable.

"You're doing splendidly," she affirmed, giddy as a teenager being asked to the prom. Then reality hit…this was more, this was impossible, yet here they were, and he was…he was…

"Yes," she blurted out, her eyes widening in a half-panicked state.

"Yes—you'll go out with me?" he questioned, the side of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Yes," she repeated, laughing at her own absurdity. "Yes, I'll go out with you. Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't sure…," he broke off, licking lips in an attempt to untwist them. "Do you like food?"

She couldn't contain her giggle as he ransacked his hair in frustration.

"Of course you like food, I mean, who doesn't?" he asked, shaking his head immediately as she tried to stifle her laughter.

God—he was acting like a complete idiot. It was a wonder she hadn't run away screaming.

"I'm quite fond of food," she mused, tossing a glance towards their cars where three figures stood impatiently. "It would seem we have something else in common."

He laughed in spite of himself, daring to reach for her hand, feeling something akin to a jolt when he took it within his own.

Her breath hitched at his touch.

"What I meant to ask was if you would like me to cook for you?" he managed, rubbing his thumb over silken skin, noticing stirrings in places he couldn't think about now, wondering if he had truly felt her shiver.

"That depends," she replied with a coy grin. "How good are you, Crawley?"

He wished he had worn boxers.

"Good enough," he hummed, relieved his mother was clearly out of earshot.

She clutched her jacket tighter with her free hand, needing it to cover the immediate response of her breasts.

"How could I possibly turn down such an offer?"

There it was—that lopsided grin that did things to her, that made her crave contact, that made her want to let him in. How in God's name was she supposed to resist that? Resist him?

"You can't," he returned, intertwining fingers with hers as they resumed their pace. "That's what I was counting on."

She filled her lungs deeply, relishing autumn's bite in an attempt to cool parts overheating.

"How is Saturday?"

She closed her eyes at his question, already counting down hours until the next weekend arrived.

"Saturday is fine," she replied. "But I'll need to find a sitter."

"I'll check with mother," he offered, warily eyeing the very woman of whom he had just spoken. "Perhaps I can convince her to have the girls for a sleep-over so we can enjoy a night in together."

The implications of what he had just uttered hit him as a snort of laughter flew out her nose.

"God, I didn't mean…"

"Seven?" she asked, making an ordinary number sound ridiculously sensual.

"Seven," he returned, feeling a lightness in his step that was most unexpected.

* * *

_As always, I would cherish your thoughts! _


	2. Define Real

Where in God's name had he left the camera?

He made another tour of the living room, heading towards the kitchen when a sniffle caught his attention.

"Is someone in here?" he asked, seeing no signs of life but sensing he was not alone. A tiny sob answered him, and he looked around in confusion, finally spotting pink sandals sticking out from underneath the kitchen table.

"Anna?" he began. "Is that you under there?"

He knelt down to her level, feeling his heart clench at the sight of her weeping into her arms.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Why aren't you outside enjoying your own birthday party?"

Eyes so much like her mother's gazed back at him in silence, and he managed to crawl in beside her, laying an arm about her shoulders.

"It's something Kylie said," she stated, wiping a damp cheek with her hand.

"What on earth did she say to upset you badly?"

She chocked back a sob, whimpering into his arm as she took a deep breath.

"Belle told her how much we want you and Mommy to have a baby," Anna replied quietly. "And Kylie said we were stupid."

"Why on earth would she say something like that?"

Matthew shook his head in confusion, knowing instinctively he had not been given the full story.

"Because she's mean," Anna returned, her small face scrunching. "And because she said that if you two had a baby and it was a girl, that you would like her better than me."

The air was nearly knocked out of him, and he turned to face her head-on, trying desperately to form the right words.

"Is that true?"

Her whisper tore at his insides, and he took her hands quickly, kissing her forehead as he shook his head.

"No," he answered decisively. "Not at all."

She bit her bottom lip.

"But Belle's your real daughter," she reasoned quietly. "And the baby would be your real daughter. But I'm..."

She broke off, staring at the floor. " I'm not."

His fingers stroked her hair, his heart so full and tender he thought it might burst then and there.

"That all depends on how you define _real_, my darling," he stated, tilting her chin until she looked right at him, not even attempting to fight the tears that threatened when she wrapped small arms around his neck.


	3. Positively Certain

A small tug on her shirt grabbed her attention, making her stand up as straight as she could without falling over.

"Yes, Belle," she asked, forcing a smile she didn't feel as her head swam in circles.

"You're sick, arent' you?"

Haunted eyes stared up at her, rimmed with a shadow of fear unnatural for a child so young.

"I'm alright," Mary answered, stroking ginger waves to ward off welling tears. "You don't need to worry, Belle."

"You're not going to…"

The child's voice broke off, and Mary noticed the girl was shaking.

"You're not going to die, are you?"

Of course she would be afraid. Belle had already lost one mother. Why wouldn't she fear losing another?

"No," Mary exclaimed, kneeling down a bit too quickly, closing her eyes to ward off a wave of nausea. "No, my darling. I just don't feel my best right now, that's all. But this is nothing you need to fear, Belle."

"Promise?"

She pulled the small body into and embrace as tight as she could muster, kissing the child's hair as she drew back slowly.

"Yes. I promise."

"But you're running a fever, aren't you?" Belle questioned, still trying to discern matters for herself.

"I don't think so," Mary returned, quirking her brow. "Why do you ask?"

"Because of that funny thermometer I saw in your bathroom," the girl answered, biting her lower lip.

Mary's breath caught in her ribs.

"Funny thermometer?" she asked, trying her best to act unaffected. "What funny thermometer?"

"The one without any numbers," Belle replied. "Just a blue plus sign on it."

She sank to her knees on the floor.

"There's a blue plus sign—on the thermometer?" Mary breathed, her own hands starting to tremble. "You're certain? Not a minus sign?"

Her stomach turned several cartwheels in a row.

"Nope," Belle returned. "I'm positively certain it's a plus sign. Do you want me to bring it to you?"

"No, no," Mary answered quickly. "I'll take care of it, darling."

"So what does that mean?" Belle pressed, shaking her head. "Does plus mean you have a fever and minus mean you don't?"

She blinked several times in succession in an attempt to both process and keep up.

"Not exactly," Mary answered, licking her lips. "It just means that I'm a-ok."

"But you don't look too good," Belle observed, reaching out to Mary's cheek.

"I'm very tired," Mary smiled. "I just need to lie down for a while."

She stood and moved to the couch as Belle trailed behind her, propping her legs up as she melded into the cushions, her mind swirling in a hundred different directions at once.

"And you're sure you're not sick?"

The child crawled up beside her, laying her cheek on Mary's chest.

"Positively certain," Mary answered, turning to face the girl just before closing her eyes. "But let's keep this our little secret for now. What do you say?"

The idea of a shared conspiracy obviously excited Belle, and she finally grinned, wrinkling her nose.

"Good idea," Belle whispered, even though they were alone in the house. "'Cause Daddy can't keep a secret for anything."


	4. The Trouble with Grown-ups

"Mary," he called as he entered the house, Anna following right on his heels. "We're back."

"Shhh," Belle commanded, her face scrunching up. "She's sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Matthew questioned, looking back towards the bedroom in concern. "Is she feeling alright?"

The girl bit her lower lip, watching him intently without saying a word.

"Belle," he began, bending down to her level. "Is there something wrong? If there is, you need to tell me."

The girl sighed, clearly confused as to what she should and should not say.

"I can't tell you," Belle admitted, twisting her hands together. "She told me it was our little secret, and you're not supposed to tell secrets without permission, no matter what."

His brow creased in confusion, perplexed by what Mary could have asked Belle to keep from him.

"Sweetheart, if Mommy is sick, you need to tell me," he explained, taking her hands within his. "That's not something she would make you promise not to share."

"But it is," Belle insisted, nodding her head. "And she's not sick, just tired. At least, that's what the funny thermometer told her."

"Funny thermometer?" Matthew questioned. "What funny thermometer?"

"Oh, no," Belle cried, her eyes rounding in horror. "I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"Does Mommy have a fever?" he asked, his eyes demanding an answer. "Answer me, Belle."

"No," Belle answered, swallowing hard. "It's not that kind of thermometer. It's the one that told her she was A-Okay."

He shook his head, more confused than when he had begun this line of inquiry.

"Was it the one that goes in your ear or under your tongue?" he questioned, searching for clarity through a maze he couldn't seem to navigate.

"I don't know," Belle confessed with a shrug. "It didn't look like either one of those."

"Then what did it look like?"

He snapped, losing what little patience he had left after navigating the grocery store with another six year old in tow.

"I'm not supposed to tell you," Belle insisted, on the verge of tears.

He sighed, ransacking his scalp regretfully.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he apologized, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I'm just concerned about Mommy, that's all. If she's sick, I need to know."

Belle bit her bottom lip, eyeing her father warily.

"She told me not to be worried," the girl finally confessed. "She said that the blue plus sign meant she was fine, just tired."

His heart stopped in his chest.

"The blue plus sign?" he repeated, clearing his throat to bring his voice back down an octave.

"The one on the funny thermometer in your bathroom," Belle explained, hiding her face in embarrassment. "The one I wasn't supposed to tell you about."

A peal of laughter hit him hard as everything fell into place.

"What's so funny?" Anna asked, moving into the conversation.

"Nothing, really," he answered with a grin. "Nothing at all. In fact, everything is A-Okay."

The girls looked at each other in confusion, shrugging together as Matthew stood upright.

"I'm going to peek in on Mommy now," he whispered, shaking his head yet again to absorb everything he wasn't supposed to know. "I promise to be very quiet," he assured them, practically tiptoeing around the corner and out of sight.

"What was that all about?" Anna asked.

"I have no idea," Belle admitted, rolling her eyes. "Grown-ups can be so confusing."


	5. Unexpected

Every limb felt heavy, her head still wrapped in a sensuous fog. It was far too much trouble to open her eyes, so she burrowed into the pillows instead, snuggling under the soft blanket as she breathed a thick sigh of contentment.

Blanket? She hadn't grabbed a blanket when she had lain down for her impromptu nap. Did it matter—really—how the blanket got there? It cocooned her perfectly, prompting her to push aside thoughts of cooking dinner and folding laundry in favor of ten more minutes of sleep.

Yes. Ten more minutes would do nicely.

Then she felt a slight movement beside her, stirring her curiosity much to her chagrin. Damn it. It was probably one of the girls needing something, something that would require her to get up, no doubt.

"Go ask your father," she mumbled, pulling the blanket up past her chin.

A decidedly masculine chuckle rumbled beside her, and one eye begrudgingly forced itself open, taking in the form of the other adult in the household stretched out alongside her.

"When did you get home?"

The words rasped from her throat, instigating a yawn she didn't attempt to hold back.

"About twenty minutes ago," he answered, smiling down at her in a manner she couldn't quite decipher. "How are you feeling?"

He reached out to stroke her hair as she snuggled deeper into the mattress.

"Better," she murmured, narrowing her eyes. "Wait. How did you know I wasn't feeling well?"

"Belle told me," he shrugged as her eyes widened at the implication. "She said you were tired, actually, and I asked her if you were ok."

"Mmmm," she acknowledged, seeing more than what he was telling her lurking behind his gaze. "What exactly did she tell you?"

"That you were a-okay and did not have a fever," he grinned, cupping her cheek as he stroked it with his thumb.

"She's right," Mary stated, drawing her knees up further towards her chest. "Just worn out, I guess."

"Just worn out," he echoed, fighting back a small smirk. "Why don't you let me bring in dinner tonight, sweetheart, so you can get plenty of rest. You look like you need it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she questioned, her brow furrowed in a still groggy state.

"Just that you look tired," he responded, his touch extending down her arm still well covered.

"Did you put this on me?" she asked, rubbing the blanket, watching as the tips of his ears turned pink.

"Yes," he admitted freely, his caress now just above her hip, settling on her waistline as his eyes shone unnaturally.

"God," she exhaled. "She told you, didn't she?"

"Told me what?" he returned, putting his lawyering skills to good use.

"You know what," she insisted as she pushed herself up on her elbow. "Don't try to play games with me, Crawley."

"And just what game do you think I'm playing?" he tossed back, leaning in a bit closer.

"See—you're doing it already," she exclaimed. "And I'm in no mood for this right now."

"Can I get you anything?" he inquired, his expression softening immediately. "Are you hungry?"

"No," she returned. "I'm not hungry at all."

He leaned in to kiss her when she pushed him back in alarm.

"God!" she cried. "What's that smell? What on earth are you wearing, Matthew?"

"Hugo," he answered, sniffing himself. "Your favorite."

"That's not Hugo," she insisted, closing her eyes as she fought off a wave of nausea. "And whatever it is, it's horrible."

"It is Hugo," he stated decisively, moving away from her reluctantly. "Do you want me to show you the bottle?"

She gazed back at him.

"Stop looking at me that way."

"What way?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"_That_ way."

"What way?"

"Like I'm pregnant, for God's sake!"

She dropped back down on the pillow, tossing her arm over her forehead in resignation.

He stretched his hand out slowly, afraid of coming to close and making her ill. His fingers touched down on her stomach, and her eyes locked onto his.

"Don't be angry with Belle," he whispered. "I was horrible to her, actually, and demanded that she tell me everything she knew. When she started talking about the funny thermometer with the blue plus sign, I…"

He paused, biting his lower lip.

"How are you, Mary? Really?"

Her eyes welled up as her hand pressed his flat to her abdomen.

"Tired," she breathed. "And a little overwhelmed. I never thought it would happen this quickly. I mean, I probably shouldn't be surprised as unexpected as Anna was, but I thought being older might make getting pregnant more difficult."

"But here we are," he smiled, raising her palm to his lips.

"Here we are," she echoed. "After only two months off birth control."

She sighed into him, wanting to kiss him but needing him to stay at arms' length.

"Are you happy about it?"

Blue eyes met brown head on, an inherent joy passing between them that elicited two broad smiles.

"Of course I am," she replied. "I'm thrilled. We're going to have a baby."

"God," he repeated, shaking his head with a laugh she felt everywhere. "We're going to have a baby."

"We're what?"

Belle's shriek from the doorway made them both sit up straight as Anna began jumping up and down in place.

"How long have you two been standing there?" Matthew questioned, attempting to look stern but failing miserably.

"Are we really having a baby Mommy?" Anna shot back, completely ignoring Matthew's question. "Really and truly?"

The grownups looked at each other and shrugged.

"Really and truly," Mary breathed, unable to quell her laughter as the girls squealed loudly and clapped.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" Belle added on, her gaze travelling from one parent to the other.

"Cross my heart," Matthew returned. "But I refuse to hope to die. Not when I have so much to live for."

The girls bounded on to the bed, erupting into a barrage of giggles and hugs before four small hands found themselves draped across Mary's middle.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Anna asked, cocking her brow in a mannerism so like her mother.

"There's no way of knowing yet," Mary replied softly. "He or she is far too little to tell."

"She must be little if she fits in there," Anna mused, patting her mother's belly in emphasis.

"You once fit in there, young lady," Mary teased, making Anna giggle as Belle stared at everyone thoughtfully.

"What is it, Belle?" Matthew asked, stroking her cheek. "Aren't you happy about the baby?"

"Yeah—I'm really happy," the girl nodded.

"Then what's on your mind?"

She looked at her father, shaking her head as if he should try harder to keep up.

"It's just that I told you this would happen," she insisted with a roll of her eyes. "See what you get when you kiss so much?"


	6. Feeling Rotten

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Anna," Isobel sighed as she led the girl out of the school. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"Not 'til after breakfast," Anna mumbled, rubbing her nose. "My throat hurts."

"Well, I'm going to take you to see Dr. Childers," Isobel assured her. "I've already made the appointment, so we'll go straight there."

"Where's Mommy?"

Isobel turned to face Anna as they buckled their seatbelts.

"She had an appointment," Isobel explained with a smile. "I'll take you home as soon as we finish at the doctor's office."

"She's feeling rotten, too," Anna observed, leaning her head against the car window. "Almost as rotten as me."

"Your mother?" Isobel questioned. "Well, perhaps you have the same thing." She touched the girl's forehead, her mouth turning down in a frown. "I think you have a fever, sweet girl."

"Mommy doesn't have a fever," Anna stated confidently.

"How do you know?" Isobel asked as she backed out of her parking place.

"She told us so yesterday," Anna replied.

"Well, that's good," Isobel returned. "But I'm fairly certain that you do."

"Then Doctor Childers will use his thermometer, won't he?" Anna questioned. "But not the funny kind that Mommy has."

"Funny kind?" Isobel grinned. "Does she have one of those that beep across your forehead?'

"No," Anna answered. "That's the kind Dr. Childers uses."

"Oh," Isobel returned. "When I was a little girl, we only had one kind of thermometer, and you don't want to know where we had to put it."

"Daddy told me," Anna murmured, scrunching her nose. "And I thought the ear ones were bad."

Isobel smiled back at the girl from the rearview mirror.

"So what makes your mother's thermometer so odd?"

"It doesn't use numbers," Anna explained, grimacing as she swallowed.

"How strange," Isobel commented. "How can it be a thermometer if it doesn't have any numbers?"

"I'm not sure," Anna admitted. "But it told her she was a-okay when she used it."

"A-okay?"

Isobel shook her head, trying to make sense of this jumbled knot.

"That's what she said," Anna shrugged.

"And just how did it do that?" Isobel pressed, more intrigued by this thermometer than she should be.

"It gave her a plus sign," Anna answered. "That's all I know."

"A plus sign?" Isobel repeated. "And this happened yesterday, you say?"

Anna nodded, clearly tired of talking as Isobel's mind computed the facts before her with lightning speed.

"And she's feeling bad, too?"

Anna nodded again, fatigue shadowing her eyes.

"Yeah," the girl whispered. "She feels rotten, and she slept a lot yesterday."

"I see," Isobel observed, feeling a warm sensation skitter inside her ribs. "Did she or your father tell you anything else, Anna?"

Anna shifted in her seat.

"Yes, but they made us promise not to tell anybody."

Isobel laughed quietly.

"Your mother is pregnant, isn't she?"

Anna's eyes widened, and she leaned forward towards the front seat.

"How did you know that? Did they tell you, too?"

"No," Isobel clarified. "But that funny thermometer you told me about is not a thermometer at all. It's a special test that lets a woman know if she's going to have a baby or not."

Anna sat in silence, her brows clearly working something out in silence.

"So the plus sign means there's a baby growing inside?"

"That's exactly what it means," Isobel affirmed. "And a minus sign means that there isn't."

"But how does it know?" the girl asked, clearly bewildered. "If the baby is so small that nobody can see it like Mommy said?"

"That's a very good question," Isobel encouraged. "It searches for a certain hormone that women produce only when they're pregnant. If that hormone is in the woman's urine, then a baby is growing in her womb."

"Urine?" Anna exclaimed. "You mean pee?"

"Yes," Isobel stated matter-of-factly. "I mean pee."

"Ewww!" Anna muttered. "And Belle touched it!"

"She what?" Isobel asked.

"She touched the pregnancy thermometer," Anna clarified. "And it had been in pee!"

"She'll be alright," Isobel assured her with a laugh. "Right now we need to concentrate on getting you all better."

Anna settled back into her seat, still processing all that she had learned.

"You'll still be my grandmother, won't you?"

The question smacked Isobel out of nowhere, and she gazed into rounded brown eyes awaiting her response.

"Of course I will, sweet girl," Isobel assured her. "I just became your grandmother not long ago, but I'll be your grandmother for the rest of your life. Why do you ask?"

Anna shrugged and swallowed.

"Just 'cause I'm different than Belle and the new baby," she replied softly. "I have a different daddy. Birth daddy, I mean."

Isobel's heart pressed hard against her chest.

"A birth father who loved you very much," Isobel emphasized. "And now you have a man who is your father by choice, just as I am your grandmother by choice. Choosing to love someone and make them a part of your family forms just a strong a bond as blood, Anna. When your father and mother got married, they chose you and Belle as well as each other. Don't ever forget that."

The girl sighed audibly from the back seat.

"Daddy told me the same thing once," Anna said softly. "On my birthday."

"You can believe it," Isobel returned. "Every word."

"And you choose to be my grandmother?"

The question fluttered over her heart-strings with the delicacy of twilight's edge.

"Yes," Isobel answered. "I choose you to be my granddaughter, and I couldn't ask for a finer one." A soft smile spread across pale skin, breaking out dimples on the child's face. "Now tell me, Anna, do you want a brother or a sister?"

"A sister, I think," Anna answered. "But I don't know. Would I have to give her my Barbies? I already share with Belle."

"No," Isobel insisted. "By the time the new baby is old enough to play with Barbies, you'll have moved on to something else." She paused and licked her lips. "But don't you think it might be nice to add a boy to the family? To have a baby brother?"

Anna scrunched her nose.

"Why?"

"Well, for variety," Isobel explained. "There are already a lot of girls in our family, you know."

The girl sat in silence for several moments, creasing her brow in a manner so like her mother Isobel couldn't help but smile.

"Nah," Anna reasoned in all seriousness after giving the matter serious thought. "We already have Daddy. I think that's enough for all of us."


	7. A Fond Farewell

**cc-weaver said:**

**I'm not sure if this has been asked yet or answered but will you address in PDPB when Mary and Matthew both decide to remove their wedding and engagement rings from their previous marriages? If you aren't planning on doing that, can I request a prompt? **

_**Mary's moment will be addressed in an upcoming chapter, but I shall now give you Matthew's. I hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

God. Just God.

Her face swam with clarity before him when he closed his eyes, the scent of her perfume still clinging to his collar, the taste of her skin branded on his tongue. "Josie", he had jokingly called her on their way home from the movie theater, making the girls break into a chorus of giggles in the back seat before bursting into yet another improvised round of "Let it Go."

"Watch out, Reginald," she had tossed back, the lilt of his middle name sliding off her tongue and heating his insides in a way he never thought possible. "Your middle name is far worse than mine."

"And just how do you intend to prove that?" he retorted, catching the flicker of her eyes as passing headlights lit the interior of his car.

"I have my ways," she hummed quietly. "If you're not afraid to dive in head-first and find out for yourself."

His groin had nearly exploded into his boxers. How badly he wanted this woman.

How much she had already made him love her.

Belle had fallen asleep within seconds of falling into her mattress, but he had been restless, tugging off his shirt and pants in favor of cotton shorts that fell low around his hips. He sat on the edge of his bed, his lonely bed last shared with his wife now more than two years ago.

An image of strawberry locks strewn about her pillow, of crystal eyes smiling up at him groggily hit him soundly in the gut, and he stared at his wedding band, giving it a twist.

His skin prickled from the inside out.

"I've met someone, Lavinia."

Somehow voicing it aloud was more difficult than he had anticipated, yet a sense of freedom bubbled up in his chest, prompting him smile into an empty room.

"I think you'd like her," he continued, staring up at the ceiling. "Her name is Mary. She's smart and funny, she loves Greek food and _The Outlander_books, and..."

He broke off, lips pressing together in thought.

"She's an excellent mother."

He swallowed down a lump before exhaling audibly.

He remembered Belle's look of adoration as she gazed up at this new woman in her life, making him recognize the girl's innate need for a mother, aching at the reality that she had been lacking one as a part of her young existence for far too long.

His daughter had no memory of her mother. An old wound throbbed as if just unearthed.

"Belle thinks the world of her," he stated softly. "And Mary is marvelous with her, truly. She goes out of her way to make her feel special and comfortable. God, she's…"

He broke off, standing and moving to a wedding photo sitting framed on his dresser.

"She's good for me," he finished, tracing the cool pewter surface. "She's good for both of us."

Smiles from a lifetime ago stared back at him, and he felt the band once more beneath his fingers as his chin began to quiver.

"It's time, I think," he managed, allowing tears to fall unhindered, hot and cleansing, sweet and bitter.

He bit his lower lip harder than he realized as he slid the ring from his hand, staring at its gold simplicity, turning it under the light.

He set the band gingerly down in front of the photograph, seeing its mirrored image staring back at him from the glass. How young they had been, how blissfully unaware of what was coming.

How naïve to what really mattered in this life.

He stepped back to gaze into the mirror, noting circles under his eyes that hadn't been there before. His finger felt odd, bare where there had been a marker, naked and shaped, open and trembling to what future might unfold before him. His thumb traced newly uncovered skin, and he stood taller as thoughts of two different women warmed him to his core.

Then he sensed it, just a hint of the lotion she had applied nightly before bed, undeniably a memory, undeniably Lavinia's, undeniably close.

"Thank you, Livvie," he breathed, remembering how her nose would scrunch in a manner identical to Belle's whenever he used that particular nickname. And with that he laughed freely, knowing with a certainty that she had indeed granted him her approval.


	8. Mother's Day

**chickwriter****said:**

Something from about Mary from Belle's point of view in PDPB..

She watched in silence as Anna proudly held out her bag of goodies, seeing her mother's face beam brightly as she marveled over the purple foam picture frame decorated with butterflies and hearts. She didn't move as the pasta necklace was laid over her gold chain with pride, as paper flowers in a decorated jar were exclaimed over with kisses and compliments, as a poem enhanced by hand prints and glitter was met with tears and a hug.

She hesitated as her father presented her with a box wrapped in the prettiest paper Belle had ever seen, shiny and sparkly and just the color of a wedding gown. It was the silver charm bracelet they'd seen in the mall, the one her mother had noticed in the widow on their way to _Gymboree_, the one she had paused to stare at in silence, one she had seen her father look at with a grin on his face.

"It's all so beautiful, so perfect," her mother had gushed, Belle's gift kept tucked securely behind her back in fidgeting hands feeling smaller by the second. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

She backed into the corner, her stomach flopping around, and she wished she had broken into her piggy bank to get her new mother something better than what she held nervously out of sight.

"Belle? What is it, darling?"

Her chin began to quiver as all eyes fixed on her, and she dropped her head, wanting to turn invisible and fly away.

Her mother's steps stopped just in front of her, and she knelt down to her level, turning up her chin.

"What's the matter?" her mother questioned. "Won't you tell me?"

"I made you something," she answered, gulping in air. "But I'm afraid you won't like it."

Mary gathered her into her arms, stroking her hair just the way she liked it.

"Of course I'll like it, Belle," her mother assured her. "I love everything you make."

Her hands moved around to her front, and she handed the paper to her mother, a small essay written in markers, framed by pink construction paper with a yellow ribbon glued to the top.

"I've never made a Mother's Day card before," she admitted quietly, wondering why her mother's hands were now shaking.

"What I like about having a Mommy," her mother read, her voice sounding a little strange. "By Belle Margaret Crawley."

Her daddy sat down on the floor with a plop, and Anna crawled into his lap. Why were his eyes so big, Belle wondered. Then her mother began to read again.

"I like having a new mommy because she always smells nice. She knows how to make macaroni and cheese even better than my grandmother, and she give me lots of hugs every day."

"I wouldn't tell mother about the mac and cheese," her daddy interrupted as her mommy wiped away a tear.

"Don't worry," her mommy grinned, shaking her head as she cupped Belle's face. "I won't say a word." She smiled back at Belle just the way she had smiled at the wedding before she began to read again.

"I like how she sings to me at night. I like how she brushes my hair and even knows how to braid it and fix it in a ballet bun. Daddy can't do that, but Mommy can."

Belle looked at her father to see if he was angry. He wasn't. He was smiling.

"I like that she treats me like her real daughter when I'm really not. But she feels like my real mommy to me, and I love her."

Then her mother was crying, really crying, and Belle couldn't tell if she was happy or upset.

"Are you ok, Mommy?" she whispered, seeing her father wipe his cheeks, too.

"Oh, Belle," her mother smiled, pulling her into a hug she felt all over. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever read."

She wanted to jump up and down, but she couldn't move, so she hugged her back instead, feeling wet kisses all over her cheeks.

"And I am real, my darling. As real as you want me to be."

"I want you forever," Belle whispered, careful not to crush the pasta necklace as her mother held her tightly once again.


End file.
